Harry Potter and the Cupboard Baby
by AwesomeA13
Summary: Adopted by No I'm Sirius. When the Dursleys give birth to a young wizard they thrust the responsibility of raising him onto sixteen-year-old Harry Potter. (Starts summer after fifth year) Disclaimer- Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
1. Chapter 1

Harry stared out the car window and watched as the rain droplets raced and danced with each other—the remnants of last night's storm. The tension was so thick he thought he'd choke on it before they finally reached Privet Drive.

Harry had been surprised (though not particularly disappointed or surprised) when only Uncle Vernon showed up at the train station. He supposed he should have expected it though with what had been happening at the Dursley household before he left for school.

Harry smirked as he thought about it. Last time he'd seen Aunt Petunia she had been cranky, rude(er) and one month pregnant with twins. He remembered the look of shocked horror on Uncle Vernon's face when she had announced the "bad news." Dudley had gone speechless—a feat not to be taken lightly in Harry's opinion.

Harry tried to picture his horse-faced aunt acting out of maternal instincts and holding a baby. Then he thought about _Uncle Vernon _with a small child and laughed aloud.

The babies would be three months now. Harry couldn't decide what he felt about meeting his new cousins. He grimaced thinking about how in no time they would be conformed to the Dursley's lifestyle and beliefs. They would probably grow to be as spoiled as Dudley.

But they were still his cousins.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat in a way that Harry recognized to mean that if he didn't give him his undivided attention then there would be heck to pay later. So, sighing, he faced the fat man.

"Petunia had the babies," he announced in the same way he would if talking about the weather or his job.

Trying not to sound rude Harry nodded saying, "I figured."

"Don't use that tone of voice with me!" he snapped back. Then Uncle Vernon cleared his throat again—this time in an awkward attempt to reign in his temper.

This could mean only one thing—he wanted something. Harry's suspicion was proven correct as Vernon kept talking.

"We can't be bothered with three children though," he said. "One of them, most unfortunately, we believe to be a freak. One of your lot."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "You couldn't possibly know that. They're too young for you to tell."

Uncle Vernon scowled at him. "He _looks_ like your kind."

"What does _that _mean?" Harry asked, fighting back his own temper.

It was a testament of how much Vernon Dursley needed Harry's help that he didn't start yelling at him for back talking or even hit him round the head.

"Either way," he said through gritted teeth. "We need you to deal with it."

"What do you want me to do with him?" Harry asked raising his eyebrows.

"We don't care. Be rid of him. Drop him at an orphanage. Throw him on the streets. Keep him for all I care! But my family is not to be bothered with this matter."

Harry regarded the man in disgust before turning back to his window and watching the road signs fly past him. What was he to do? He didn't want to "be rid of him" or abandon him—he knew firsthand what that was like. He had grown up as the neglected, abused orphan boy—someone else's table scraps. He could never wish or inflict that on someone else, much less a child.

But he couldn't keep him either. He didn't know how to be a father. Harry had met and seen a lot of different fathers and father figures in his life. There was Uncle Vernon—the merciless, prone to violence one who didn't truly love his child. There was Sirius (his heart contracted painfully thinking about his godfather but he pushed the feeling aside. He had to concentrate on the matter at hand)—the reckless, funny one who was better left as the "cool uncle" than a dad. There was Mr. Weasley—the one who loved his family with all he had but let Muggle things get in the way of it.

Then there was James. Harry knew little of the kind of father he was. He didn't know if he was crude like Vernon or careless like Sirius or distracted like Arthur Weasley. He had no memories of James Potter outside the man's heartbreaking end. But that one, single memory gave him all he needed to know. James Potter had loved him with reckless abandon. He had stood furiously in the face of death—just to give him the chance at survival.

Harry shook his head. _'Your fifteen, you can't raise a baby. And besides what would happen come September when you go back to Hogwarts?'_

Harry looked up to find himself sitting in the driveway. His uncle was already at the door, whisper-yelling at him to hurry it up. He had to keep up appearances after all.

Harry got out of the car in a daze and dragged his trunk inside. His aunt was lounging on the couch with a small baby lying next to her. He was defiantly a Dursley. The chubby baby was wrapped in a bright blue blanket that had cursive writing on the side: Darius. He had grey-blue eyes and thick blond hair.

Petunia sneered at Harry as he walked in and Dudley, who had been sitting in a recliner chair, grimaced as if the sight of Harry caused him pain.

Home sweet home, Harry thought wryly as he dragged his trunk up the stairs and into his room. He had barely had time to set it down when Uncle Vernon's booming voice called, "Get down here right now, Boy!"

As soon as he reached the sitting room a piece of paper was thrust into his hands. He read it over silently and was surprised to find it was a birth certificate for one Jackson David Dursley. Harry looked up into his uncle's face and he said, "He's in the cupboard. Do whatever with it but the orphanage closed an hour ago so if you plan to toss it just use the streets."

He hadn't even finished speaking and Harry was gone, hurrying toward the cupboard. He sighed in relief when he noted that it wasn't locked. However relief did not stay with him. As he swung the door open he almost gagged at the horrible stench the filled his nostrils. Plugging his nose he looked around.

His tattered-to-the-point-of-being-unusable cot lay where it had five years ago. Hanging above it was a picture he'd drawn himself. It wasn't particularly creative, merely a few scribbles and the words—Harry's Room. Harry vividly remembered the day he made it. His first grade teacher had announced to the class that they were going to make postures for their rooms and hadn't understood when Harry told her he couldn't do the project because he didn't _have _a room. When Dudley and he got home Aunt Petunia had doted on his cousin and cooed out compliments for his artwork as she hung his picture on the fridge. Harry knew better than to present her with his own paper (last time he tried she had shredded it and told him "freaks aren't good enough") so he hung it up in the only place that was his own.

Now however there was something new in the cupboard too. A large cardboard box sat atop the cot, it was filled with ripped, threadbare blankets and a baby. The little boy had a shock of red hair and when he opened his eyes to regard his visitor Harry gasped to find his own emeralds looking back at him. Harry hadn't thought of the fact that his cousins could wind up looking like his mum.

Despite the fact his nappy seemed to be several days old he giggled and smiled at the stranger before him.

With shaking fingers Harry picked the box up and lifted it gently from the dark space. He carried it up to his room and placed it on his bed. Jackson laughing the whole way up.

"Harry," he heard from his doorway.

He turned around and was surprised to find his aunt standing there. He hadn't even known she _knew _his name.

"Erm . . . Yes?" he asked cautiously.

She walked in without invitation and dropped a bag of Huggies diapers next to the box. She didn't look at her son as she did so.

"There are some baby things we aren't using in the attic if you need them," and with that she turned on her heel and strode away.

Harry smiled and looked down at the small child. Then wrinkled his nose and stared hesitantly at the nappies. He'd never changed a diaper before.

Harry pulled out his Herbology gloves, Potions safety goggles and a spare clothes pin from the depths of his trunk and prepared for the worse.

"Alright, now, Jack," he said, his voice sounding odd to his own ears. "Bear with me; I've never done this before."

Lifting the boy from the box as if he were an atomic bomb he laid him on the bed spread. Jackson squirmed uncomfortably and looked at Harry as if to say _Are you sure about this?_

Harry smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way and carefully pulled off the soiled nappy with one gloved hand. "Aurgh! Gross!" he said and fought down the urge to be sick.

Jackson laughed and clapped his hands sloppily.

After many failed attempts Jackson was snugly back in a new diaper. Harry looked at his finished work proudly and complemented himself on a job well done.

Harry threw his school things aside and placed Jack back in the box. He headed for the door when he turned around and stared at the cardboard sitting by his bed. "Um . . . Stay," he told the already sleeping baby.

Jackson snored and he took that as his okay to leave.

Harry looked around the attic until he found an old, wooden crib which rested by a box labeled _**Baby Clothes.**_ He peered inside and was surprised to see some of Dudley's old clothes. Harry smiled to himself. Aunt Petunia could have used these for Darius—they were perfectly fine, hardly worn at all and would have fit him well—but instead she'd left them up here for Jack.

For all her faults Petunia Dursley loved her children.

He carried the clothes and crib down one at a time. When he returned to his room it was to find Jackson's smiling face and bright green eyes. He gurgled when he saw Harry and lifted his arms up to him, silently asking to be picked up.

Harry hesitated for a moment before obeying. At first he held the baby rigidly; afraid he'd trip and drop him out the window or something. But he calmly reminded himself that the window was barred and slowly relaxed.

He placed the boy back on his bed and fished out some snug footsy pajamas for Jackson—the white shirt he had on was soiled and gross. Harry looked at the time and was surprised to see it was already nearing eleven.

"It's past your bed time," he told Jackson as he lowered him into the crib. "Don't get used to staying up this late."

Jackson looked at him with wide eyes. After a second his chin began to wobble and his emerald orbs filled with tears.

"No, shhh. It's okay. I'm here," Harry reassured hastily. He reached in and gently caressed his baby soft cheek.

Jack smiled up at him tiredly but still didn't close his eyes. Harry wondered if there was a secret way to do this and maybe he wasn't doing it right. Ron had once told him that his father used to tell him bed time stories to get him to fall asleep, but Harry couldn't think of any stories other than Cinderella and he absolutely refused to tell Jackson about a princess whose shoe was a size too big. Hermione had mentioned that her mum sang to her. Harry definitely wasn't good as singing and thought it would just be rude to subject Jack to such a horrid thing as him attempting to.

As Jack threatened to cry again he picked him back up and settled back onto his bed.

"I'm not very good at this," he told him as he settled Jackson onto his lap. "But don't worry I'll find you someone who is." Harry wasn't sure why the idea made him feel sick to his stomach. This only made Jack look like he wanted to cry more. "No, please don't cry. It's for the best really."

Jackson whimpered pitifully and Harry looked into his wet green eyes, feeling his resolve crumbling.

Harry sighed. "I'll write to Ron and Hermione in the morning. They'll know what to do."

He kissed Jack's forehead fondly and placed him back in the crib. Jackson yawned and his eyes fluttered closed.


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n Special thanks to Katzztar for suggesting the blood wards be changed**

* * *

Harry glared at the parchment in front of him. It had one thing written on it, just one—'Dear Ron.' How did you tell your best friend that your relatives wanted you to either abandon a child or raise it yourself? Harry tried to think about what Ron's response would most likely be but came up blank. They had taken on the Professor's obstacles to get to the Philosophers Stone, braved the Chamber of Secrets, confronted Sirius when they still believed him to be a murderer, gone through the Tri Wizard Tournament and last year fought a bunch of Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. But they'd never been in _this_ kind of situation before.

Face Voldy? Sure, Harry could do that. But ask his best friend if he'd make a good father? Not so much.

Harry glanced to the cradle where Jack slept on and tried to imagine himself leaving him at an orphanage. Could he just move on from that? Could he just forget the small boy who had his mother's eyes?

Harry knew that he couldn't. It would make things a lot easier—no one would have to know—but, then again, Harry wasn't known for taking the "easy" way.

He turned back to the taunting words. Finally, he bit his lip and decided that ripping off the band aid was the way to go. He wrote two identical letters—one for Ron and one for Hermione. Harry scanned it over and looked between Jackson and Hedwig. If he sent these letters there would be no turning back.

Harry approached the crib and carefully brushed some of Jack's fringe away. The baby smiled in his sleep and leaned into the touch. Harry remembered the way Jack had looked at him earlier—with complete love and admiration. Harry couldn't remember anyone ever looking at him that way before. Not even Mrs. Weasley— as much as she cared for him she had her own kids, he was just Ron's friend.

Jack's eyes opened lazily and Harry stared into his green orbs. His heart broke at the thought of giving him away. Harry lifted the boy out and cradled him as he rocked back and forth almost instinctively.

"What do you think, Jack?" He asked the gurgling baby. "Do you want to go live somewhere else? I'm sure the Muggles—non magic folk that is—could find you a nice loving family."

Jack stopped smiling instantly as if he understood what Harry was saying. He reached out one, small hand and placed it on Harry's cheek just as he had done to Jack the night before.

"You don't want me. I wouldn't make a good father—I'm not even sixteen yet," he told Jackson.

He sighed and placed Jack back into the crib carefully. Hedwig flew over to him and held out her leg. Harry stared into her intelligent eyes and swore he saw love shining through them. He set his jaw and wrapped the letters around his owl's leg.

She nibbled his finger affectionately and carefully maneuvered herself through the bars. Before Harry could even consider calling her back she was gone.

Harry sighed and sat down on his bed already second guessing his decision.

At that moment the door swung open without consent or warning and Aunt Petunia strode in holding a large, yellow envelope. She handed it to Harry and said, "Adoption papers. You give them to the orphanage. They can either take the kid from there or you can finalize an adoption with them."

With that she turned on her heels and left the room, her dress billowing behind her reminding Harry strangely of Snape.

()()()()

The next day Harry woke to a light tapping on his window. At first he was confused but as the grogginess of sleep wore off his eyes flew open and apprehension settled in. He rolled out of bed and was at his window in record timing. With shaking fingers he slid the glass open and allowed Hedwig to fly inside.

He took his letters and stroked her feathers in thanks before she flew back to her cage.

Clutched in his hands were Ron and Hermione's responses. Harry felt like a brick had landed in the pit of his stomach and he seriously considered not opening them when he glanced at Jack who was staring up at him curiously.

"This is it, Jackson," Harry told him.

Taking a deep, steadying breath he opened the one he knew to be Ron's.

"Harry,

Bloody hell! A _baby?_ Your aunt and uncle had a _baby_ and then dumped him on you? Your relative's are gits. No offence. I don't know what to tell you, mate. I know you'd do brilliantly, you're always helping out the First Years—even the Slytherins. Maybe you could owl Dumbledore and ask permission to take Jack along to Hogwarts? He loves you; I'll bet he'll say yes. I reckon Hermione will have better advice to give. Sorry I couldn't help much, mate.

Oh, and Mum wants you to come to the Burrow as soon as possible. Fred reckons you're her favorite son. See you soon. – Ron"

Harry chuckled and reread the letter. He supposed writing Dumbledore wasn't such a bad idea. But even if he could bring Jack who would watch him while Harry was in classes?

He sighed and opened Hermione's letter, silently hoping Ron was right.

"Dear Harry,

That's awful! I can't believe your aunt and uncle would do that. I mean I know your always saying they're horrible but honestly!

I think it's a wonderful idea for you to take him, Harry. You'll be good to him, I know you will. I've been thinking too—about the blood wards you told Ron and me about. Jackson would be related to you by the same blood that binds you to your Aunt Petunia. So, maybe if you took him in you could leave the Dursley's? And—theoretically speaking, of course—the wards should be stronger than before. You love Jack, I can tell from your letter, but you don't love your aunt and if the blood wards were built on love wouldn't you be better off with just Jack?

Of course, you're still a year away from being seventeen so the two of you would have to stay with an adult. Maybe Professor Lupin? Or I'm sure you could stay with my family and you know Ron's is always open to you. I can ask him if you like.

Good luck, Harry. I know you'll be a wonderful father. – Hermione"

Harry's heart jumped into his throat. He'd been dreaming about leaving the Dursley's since before he could remember. There was still the little problem of where he'd live, of course. Harry decided Moony wasn't the best place for him to go though—he was still mourning Sirius, he needed time. He could go to the Weasley's but that wouldn't be very fair to them. As much as he hated to admit it they wouldn't be able to afford him.

Harry grinned as the answer came to him. "Jack, we're getting out of here!" he shouted joyfully.

Jackson giggled from his crib.

Harry scrawled out a hasty note to Hermione thanking her for her brilliance before moving onto Ron's. He explained Hermione's thoughts and then what Muggle's would call "rent." But this time he added a third letter to Dumbledore. He felt weird writing to the headmaster and found himself trying to fit in as many "big words" as possible. When he realized he was just misspelling half the letter he dropped the charade and settled for the direct approach once again.

With Hedwig safely on her way Harry turned and laughed joyfully. He picked Jackson up and studied him silently. Jack smiled up at him and talked in a language only he understood.

For the first time Harry knew he could do this. He would take Jack and make a life for them as far away from the Dursley's as possible. And if they turned out to be wrong—if Jackson wasn't a wizard—then Harry would love him anyway.

Harry glanced at the envelope he knew to hold Jack's adoption papers and felt his heart sink. He couldn't get legal custody or change Jack's name to Potter until Harry was older. It'd be another two years before the Muggle's let him have complete custody of Jackson.

As Harry rocked Jack and looked around the room, contemplating how he could keep him, something caught his eye. Socks. One a bright neon orange with hot pink polka dots and the other tie-dye. Dobby gave them to him as a thank you present back in Second Year. Harry grinned broadly. The first thing that always came to his mind whenever he thought of Second Year was the heart-stopping, gut-wrenching panic of finding eleven-year-old Ginny Weasley unconscious in the Chamber of Secrets. The second thing was _Polyjuice Potion._

All he had to do was nick the ingredients from Snape. The Weasley's had already invited him over for Christmas; he could just disguise himself as a Muggle and sneak away to the orphanage to finalize it.

"I'm really going to do this," Harry said breathlessly. Giddy excitement bubbled up and escaped him in the form of laughter.

He quickly got himself and Jackson ready for the day and walked downstairs, a diaper bag swung over his shoulder. Feeling too happy to care what his uncle would say he casually walked into the kitchen and packed a paper bag with food and formula that probably belonged to Darius.

"Jack and I are going out!" He called to the gob smacked Dursley's. As he shut the door behind him he was sure that Aunt Petunia smiled.

"We're going to the park, buddy," Harry informed Jackson as they walked down the road.

He sat on a swing and gently moved like a boat at sea. Jackson giggled and Harry couldn't help but smile down at him.

"Can you say 'Harry?'" he asked the bundle in his arms. "C'mon, I know you can do it! 'Harry!'"

Jackson gurgled as if actually trying to obey and an overwhelming love filled Harry. After the Department of Mysteries Harry had been sure that he'd lost his only chance at family. He'd gone around feeling like dementors were tailing him—like he could never be happy again. But as he pulled Jackson closer he knew that he would be okay. _They _would be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry found himself standing in a field clothed in sunflowers and puddles of rain water. A picnic blanket was spread out to his left and two paper plates sat on top, both weighed down by half-eaten peanut butter sandwiches and Cheez-its.

A small boy was running around, laughing excitedly. He had a mop of red hair that stuck out in every direction and his bright green eyes sparkled. He had too-big ears and light freckles sprinkled his nose. A red blanket was tied around his shoulder like a cape and he stuck his fists out in front of him as he ran.

"Daddy!" he called. "Daddy look! I'm a super hero! I'm _Superman_, Daddy!"

"Jackson?" Harry called confusedly.

The red-haired boy stopped running abruptly and put his hands on his hips. _"Dad,_" he said sternly. "You'll give 'way my secret identity!"

The scene suddenly gave way to darkness and Harry fell through a hole that hadn't been there a second before. He looked around and found himself standing in the biggest room he'd ever been in—the Dursley's house could fit in snuggly and still have some left over space. The whole interior was formal and so clean Harry felt sure he was dirtying it up with his too big hand-me-down clothes.

A large table spread out from one end of the room to the other. Harry scowled as he took in there dark robes and masked faces. _Death Eaters._

The door suddenly burst open and Harry screamed, falling to his knees as his scar burned. He clamped his hands over it and not completely convinced that his head wasn't splitting open he struggled back to his feet.

Pale, nose-less and red-eyed Voldemort sneered as he took in his followers. "Any word on the Potter boy?" he said in a voice like that of a snake's.

One cloaked and anonymous wizard stood up importantly. "I heard he took in an orphan himself—a boy, Jackson David Dursley."

For a brief second Harry saw surprise flash across Voldemort's face before it settled back into its usual mask of indifference. He told the man to sit down and turned to different Death Eater who sat rigidly still. "Is this true, Severus?"

"Dumbledore has not mentioned any boy to me," Snape drawled out. "However, I saw him with a letter from Potter before you summoned us."

"Then why did you not feel the need to inform me of this? _Crucio!"_

Harry cringed as Snape feel off the chair, twitching and biting his lip from the floor. "What have you heard of this—this _Jackson?"_

Snape, gasping for breath, said, "Nothing. Dumbledore has told me nothing!"

"You disappoint me, Severus. That cannot do. _Crucio!"_

Harry grimaced and backed away, desperately wanting the dream to end. He felt his back hit something and spun around quickly. Before him was the eight-year-old Jackson, his cape was gone and instead he wore Death Eater robes, clutched in his small hand was a mask.

But Jack's eyes . . . they were glazed over like he'd gone blind and a single tear traced the length of his cheek.

"Why?" he asked as he choked back a sob.

Harry stumbled away and realized he was back in the field only the bright summer sky was gone. Dark clouds spun around in a lazy circle and slowly stole away the sun—its last ray of light broke through the coffin of clouds, gasping for air, and then it was gone. The vibrant green grass died away turning sickly yellow and the ground rumbled leaving behind ugly cracks like scars.

"Why'd you do it, Dad?" Jackson asked again.

"I'm sorry, Jack! I'm sorry!" Harry pleaded, though not quite sure what he was apologizing for.

"You dragged me into this. You ruined my life."

"I'm sorry! What did I do, buddy? What did I drag you into?"

Jackson sobbed and said in the raspy voice of Professor Trelawny when she spouted a prophecy, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . . The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies . . ."

Harry swallowed. "I—I thought I was doing the right thing! I thought we would be okay!"

Jackson shook his head, "They got me, Daddy. They took me 'way. This is your fault! YOUR FAULT!"

"No! NO!" Harry shouted. And as the dream began to fade away he heard Voldemort's cold laughter like a nail running down a chalkboard. "This boy—this Jackson—Potter loves him?" he asked icily.

"Yes," another voice—Snape—panted.

"Then he must not live."

"NO!" Harry sat up in bed and looked around wildly. His head was spinning and his vision was blurred. He stumbled to his feet and faintly—as if from a great distance—he heard crying. Before he could regain his senses however the door banged open and a furious red-faced Vernon Dursley strode in menacingly.

"WHAT IN THE BLAZES IS GOING ON HERE BOY?" he bellowed. He wrapped his meaty hands around Harry's neck and threw him against the wall. The breath was squeezed out of him and he struggled for breath. Kicking around and trying to pry the offending hands away. He somehow managed to choke out, "Geroff me!"

"Vernon, really!" Came the exasperated voice of his aunt. "You mustn't leave marks. His lot will know if you do."

Uncle Vernon threw Harry away and he selfishly gasped for breath.

"Keep it down in here or it'll be the last thing you do," Vernon growled. "AND SHUT THAT DANG BABY UP!"

Then he was gone. Aunt Petunia looked at Harry as he pitifully tried to regain his composure. She looked like she wanted to say something but then she shook her head and left, shutting the door behind her with a quiet _click_.

Harry got slowly to his feet and embarrassedly wiped away his tears. He peered into Jackson's crib and was almost surprised to see him still a small three month old baby and not a child. He picked him up and sat down on his bed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the baby brokenly. "I'm so sorry."

He pulled Jackson closer and cried until his throat was raw and he was too exhausted to keep going.

()()()()()()()()()()

Harry yawned and slowly opened his eyes. Jackson was still lying in his lap, sleeping soundly. Harry looked over to the mirror across from him and winced as he took in his bruised neck. He poked at it tenderly and silently cursed his uncle—they were distinctly hand shaped. How was he going to explain this one to Hermione and the Weasley's? He could play the occasional split lip or black eye off as a small row with Dudley but Uncle Vernon's hands were much bigger than his son's.

Carefully, so as to not wake him, Harry placed Jackson in his crib and put his head in his hands as he plopped into his desk chair. What had he been thinking? He couldn't drag Jack into his mess. He couldn't subject the innocent child to a life of war. Jackson could not—he would not—lead a life cowering in the shadows of Dark Lords and death.

Hedwig flew in his open window and landed beside him cautiously as if sensing his distress. She nibbled his ear affectionately and he looked up.

"Hullo, Hedwig," he sighed.

She held out her leg to him and he took the letters with a mumbled "thanks."

"Harry,

Mum says she would be "honored" (her exact words) to have you and Jack stay until you're of age. In fact I'm pretty sure she'll keep you longer, against your will. She doesn't like the idea of you paying though. She said "Hospitality should be free," or something like that. But since you insisted I think I've talked her into it. Anything to see her favorite son, yeah?

You can come over any time but hurry. I'm bored out of my mind. – Ron."

Harry felt sick. The Weasley's. He'd just be pulling them into this as well. He had already dragged Ron and Hermione into enough danger to last a lifetime. It wasn't fair to ask them to fight this battle too. No, Harry knew that this time it was just him. No Ron to sacrifice himself at the last minute. No Hermione to give him the information that made the puzzle fall into place. Just him and Voldemort.

Harry paled at the thought. Last time it had been the two of them against each other Cedric died.

"_Kill the spare . . . Bow to death, Harry . . . It might even be painless . . . I would not know . . . I have never died . . ."_

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts and scolded himself for thinking about that night. Even now, a whole year after it happened, Harry dreamt about the graveyard. About the Tri Wizard Tournament. It didn't exactly help that he now bore a scar on his forearm from where Peter Pettigrew had taken his blood . . . Blood that helped Voldemort rise.

_Stop it, Harry!_ He told himself.

Sighing, Harry picked up the last letter. It was from Dumbledore, not that it mattered any more. Harry couldn't take Jack with him anyway. He wanted Jackson to have a happy life—Harry knew very little about living such a life but he'd caught glimpses.

_Sirius asking him to move in with him._

_Ron and Hermione._

_Jackson._

_Everyone in Dumbledore's Army (except McLaggen of course)._

That was the life Jack would have—one of joy and unconditioned love. Harry would make sure of it.

But Harry decided to open the letter anyways. After all, it would be rude not to. Harry read the letter over quickly and was surprised to see that Dumbledore wanted to meet with him. "I have a favor to ask of you too," it read.

Harry stared at that particular line suspiciously. It wasn't that he didn't trust Dumbledore—he did, probably more than he trusted anyone else. Albus Dumbledore however was, undeniably, manipulative. The end of last year when Harry first heard the prophecy was proof of that.

Harry wrote a quick response to Dumbledore, agreeing to meet him in two days time. But he put off telling Ron he couldn't come over. For the first time since Third Year Harry had had a home and family at his feet. He could raise Jackson and live at the Burrow. He wasn't quite ready to give that up just yet though.

Jackson whimpered from his cradle and Harry was immediately at his side, gathering him into his arms. Jackson immediately stopped crying and instead laughed in delight, reaching up and trying to yank Harry's glasses off.

Yesterday the action would have filled Harry with love and excitement for the future he would build with Jackson. Today it broke his heart and filled him with bitterness. Harry had always prided himself in being emotionally strong. He never cried.

Not when he was seven and a drunken Uncle Vernon had beaten him into unconsciousness.

Not when he was eight and was forced to go three whole days without any food or water.

Not when he was nine and Dudley and his friends broke Harry's arm.

Not when he was ten and Aunt Petunia had held his hand against the burning stove top.

Not when he was eleven and facing Voldemort for the first time since that fateful Halloween night.

Or twelve and dying from Basilisk poison. Or thirteen and hearing about how his parents' best friend betrayed them. Not even when he was fourteen and had been portkeyed to the graveyard. He had yet to even grieve for his godfather's death.

But as he held Jackson and felt the rush of a thousand heartbreaks he cried.


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n I don't really like this chapter but we'll see how it blows over. But special thanks to whoever "Guest" is for suggesting just about the only good idea in this chapter- emancipation. :)**

* * *

Harry paced the room anxiously. Any minute and Professor Dumbledore would be there to pick Jackson and him up. He hadn't told the Dursleys—he already had to try and cover up his bruised neck and he knew that if he were to tell his uncle that a wizard was coming to get him he would probably get an injury far worse than that.

Jack watched him from his crib. Harry had been hesitant to pick him up since his vision. Every time the baby smiled at him or laughed Harry wanted more than anything to keep him.

"_They got me, Daddy. They took me 'way. This is your fault! YOUR FAULT!"_

Harry pushed the dream away. That part hadn't been in any way connected to his vision but it got to him all the same.

Suddenly there was a loud pop like gunfire from outside quickly followed with the ringing of the doorbell. Harry picked Jack up and walked down the stairs trying to act casual.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and held his breath as Uncle Vernon pulled the door open. His jaw dropped as he took in Professor Dumbledor's emerald robes and pointed hat.

"Good evening," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "You must be Mr. Dursley."

As Uncle Vernon's shocked face slowly turned red Harry took a step back—Harry found it was best to remain out of arms reach from his uncle at all times.

"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief Harry has not warned you that I was coming. Escaped his mind, I dare say," Dumbledore said merrily. "However we really can't stay so we'll have to refuse your offer of hospitality for now. Ah, Harry m'boy."

Harry grinned despite himself, "Hullo Professor." Then his brow furrowed as he caught sight of the headmaster's hand—it was black and looked dead. "Professor Dumbledore what happened to your hand?"

"I have no time to explain now. It is a thrilling tale and I wish to do it justice. All ready then?"

"Just have to grab my trunk," Harry confirmed.

Jackson gurgled from his arms and Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. "Ah, and Mr. Jackson I presume?"

"Yes, sir."

Dumbledore held out his hands, "May I?"

"Please," Harry said politely and handed Jack over.

The baby pulled on Dumbledore's long beard and he chuckled as he took in Jackson's round face.

Harry hurried upstairs, grabbed his trunk and grunted as he hauled it down.

"Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, Dudley," Dumbledore said. "Harry aren't you going to say goodbye to your relatives? It'll be a long time before you see each other again."

"Oh . . . erm . . . Bye." He waved awkwardly. Uncle Vernon sneered at him, Aunt Petunia went back to the kitchen as if she hadn't heard and Dudley, surprisingly, waved back.

As they stepped into the cold night air Dumbledore took out his wand. "Go ahead and take out your invisibility cloak Harry. Just in case." After Harry had obeyed and stuffed his father's cloak into his pocket Dumbledore said, "I'll just take care of this, yes?" And before Harry could do anything else his trunk disappeared, presumably to the Burrow. Dumbledore took off down the street.

They walked along the road in silence, Jack still in Dumbledore's arms, and Harry finally burst out, "What favor did you have to ask me about, sir?"

Dumbledore chuckled and said, "An old colleague of mine. I'd like him to return this year to teach but I fear I may not be enough to persuade him."

"So you want me to do it? Convince him?" Harry asked.

"Indeed, m'boy. But first, we will visit my office to discuss Mr. Jackson."

Harry's shoulders slumped and he didn't say anything until they reached a very familiar house. Harry grimaced as he thought about all the cats and old cake that waited behind the closed door.

"Mrs. Figg's house?" Harry said before he could stop himself.

Dumbledore nodded. "We will use her floo. Arabella, how nice to see you again."

"Albus," she said looking pleasantly surprised. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"We were hoping to use your fireplace."

"Oh, yes. Of course. Come on in then."

If she thought the headmaster of Hogwarts holding a baby was unusual she didn't comment on it. Dumbledore and Jackson disappeared in a furry of green flame and Harry took a deep breath before following suit. The normal nausea took over and just when he was sure he'd be sick he stumbled and fell. When he looked up he was on the floor in Dumbledore's office.

He scrambled to his feet, brushed off the soot and sat in the chair Dumbledore offered him.

"Now Harry—"

"It doesn't matter anymore, Professor. I can't keep Jack," he whispered sadly.

"Oh, and why not?"

Harry told Dumbledore his vision/dream and said, "I can't let that happen to him, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled at him fondly. "Harry, if Voldemort has Jackson in his sights I daresay leaving him in an orphanage won't help him. In fact, I have looked into Ms. Granger's blood ward suggestion and agree whole heartedly that they will work better with you and Mr. Jackson."

Harry, trying hard not to hope, said, "Okay, say I keep him. I couldn't legally adopt him yet and I'd have to live with someone. The Weasleys said I could stay with them but that would be putting them in danger as well."

"My dear boy, if the two of you live with the Weasleys the blood wards would protect them too. As for the adoption I have looked into that as well. I do believe you are old enough to go to Muggle authorities to be—what was it now?—emancipated."

Harry's heart swelled. He ran through his list of Why I Can't Keep Jackson—

It couldn't be legal

It would be dangerous

He didn't know how to be a father

The prophecy

Voldemort

But none of that really worked or mattered any more. He could still keep Jackson—they could still be family. Harry's eyes prickled but he pushed the sensation away.

He looked up when Jackson was dumped back into his arms. Dumbledore's eyes sparkled happily and Harry grinned as Jackson gave him a toothless smile and reached up to take his glasses once again.

"So—you mean—Jack can—" Harry stumbled over his words as his overwhelming sense of happiness expanded.

Dumbledore nodded. "Mr. Jackson may stay."

Before Harry could stop himself he ran around the desk, careful not to jostle Jack too much, and threw himself on Professor Dumbledore stammering his thanks. The headmaster chuckled and pat Harry's back until he finally pulled away, his face burning red.

"Sorry," he said and returned to his seat shushing Jack who hadn't liked the sudden movement.

"Quite alright, m'boy. It's quite alright," Dumbledore smiled warmly.

"What—what about classes, sir. I hardly think Snape would be very understanding," Harry said.

"_Professor _Snape, Harry," Dumbledore reprimanded lightly. Then he smiled in that knowing way of his. He snapped his fingers and a light pop filled the room making Jack start crying again.

"Mr. Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby exclaimed and hugged Harry around the legs. "When Mr. Albus Dumbledore said Harry Potter needed Dobby's help Dobby was most anxious to get started. Dobby would do anything for Harry Potter because he is brave and noble and great—even if it does mean changing Mr. Jackson Potter's diapers."

Harry's face turned red at the compliments and he was too embarrassed to tell Dobby that Jack wasn't a Potter yet.

Dobby took the crying baby from Harry's arms and held him up to eye level. Jackson stopped crying immediately and his eyes grew wide as he stared at the house elf.

Dobby smiled excitedly and said, "Look Mr. Harry Potter, sir! Mr. Jackson Potter likes Dobby! Oh, yes Dobby likes you too Mr. Jackson."

Harry couldn't help but smile back as Jack continued to stare at Dobby with disbelief.

Dumbledore smiled, "Right then. If you will, Dobby. Harry, Jackson and I have an errand to run before I take them to the Burrow."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Dumbledore. Dobby will be seeing Harry Potter later."

Dobby handed Jackson back to Harry, bowed lowly and disappeared with a _pop._ Jackson, his emerald eyes still wide, stared at Harry as if to say _What was _that?

"And my roommates, sir?" Harry asked, unable to wipe the smile from his face.

"Hogwarts has several private rooms—you and Jack may use one if you choose to."

Harry knew it was only right to take offer, he couldn't ask Ron, Dean, Seamus and Neville to deal with Jackson too but he didn't want to be alone either. After Harry got his Hogwarts letter he swore he'd never be alone again.

"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said gently, "can of course accompany you if he so pleases."

Harry grinned. "I'll have to talk to him first. Thank you, Professor—for everything."

Dumbledore smiled merrily and stood to his feet. "Now," he said, "if you don't mind accompanying me to my colleague's?"

"Not at all," Harry said and stood up too.

Dumbledore said they would normally just Apparate but they couldn't with Jackson—he was too young and fragile. So instead they flooed to a man named Glen Harroway's house. Dumbledore had already asked permission to pass through so after brief introductions they were on their way to who Dumbledore referred to as "Horace Slughorn."

As they walked along the road in silence Dumbledore said, "I trust you've read the _Daily Prophet_ over the last two weeks?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said bitterly. The only family he had died that night and all anyone cared about was getting more crap on the bloody Boy-Who-Lived.

"Then you understand there have been leaks about what happened at the Ministry."

Harry sighed, "And now they all know that I'm the one who—"

"No," interrupted Dumbledore. "There are only two people who have heard the full contents of the prophecy and both of them are right here walking down this street. It is true though that many have guessed what the Death Eaters were after—a prophecy concerning you and Voldemort. Am I correct in assuming you haven't told anyone what the prophecy says?"

"Yes, sir. You are." Harry said, somewhat guiltily.

"A very wise decision," said Dumbledore. "However I think you ought to relax it in favor of your friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Ms. Hermione Granger. You do them a great disservice by keeping such important information from them."

"I know, but I don't want to—"

"—to frighten or worry them?" Dumbledore surveyed Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Or perhaps you don't want to admit that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends Harry. Sirius would not have wanted you to shut yourself away."

Harry's eyes burned at the mention of his godfather and in his mind's eye a memory flashed. He watched as the mischief left Sirius's face and was replaced with raw fear. As his boisterous grey eyes grew dull. And he was falling, slowly as if Harry was watching in slow motion. The flap of the veil as if signaling the end of his life. And a voice— a grief racked, heart-breaking, tear-filled voice— trying to offer him comfort.

"_There's nothing you can do, Harry . . . nothing . . . He's gone."_

Harry shivered as a coldness akin to the effects of a dementor filled him. Jackson squirmed in his arms as if the coldness Harry felt inside was taking hold of him too.

Dumbledore put a hand on Harry's shoulder but he didn't take his eyes off Jack. "On another, though related, note it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."

Harry's eyes widened and he finally tore his gaze away from Jack. Only then did he realize they weren't walking any more. "Private lessons? With—with you?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Yes. I do believe it is time I take a greater hand in your education," Dumbledore said lightly.

"What sort of things will you teach me, sir?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore waved a dismissal hand. "Oh, a little of this, a little of that."

Harry waited excitedly but the headmaster didn't elaborate so he broached a different topic. "Sir? If I'm taking lessons with you will I be doing Occlumency with Snape again this year?"

"_Professor _Snape—and no, you will not."

"Good," Harry said before he could stop himself. He blushed and waited for more reprimanding but outside the twinkle of amusement in Dumbledore's eyes it didn't come.

"I wish to discuss just one more thing before we proceed to Horace's. From now on I wish you to have your invisibility cloak with you at all times. Even within Hogwarts. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. Now, if you'll follow me?"

Dumbledore motioned toward the small, neat stone house to their right. Dumbledore lead the way up the pathway and knocked smartly on the door. There was some bustling from inside, a muffled _"ow"_ and the peep hole was thrown open.

"Who is it? What do you want?" called a voice from inside. "Oh, it's just you, Albus."

The peephole snapped closed and there was the sound of at least a dozen locks being unlatched.

"Bit paranoid, aren't we?" Harry mumbled to Jackson despite knowing he wouldn't understand. The baby laughed but was cut short by a mighty yawn.

The door swung open to reveal a very fat, bald, old man. Harry had never seen anyone who looked so much like a walrus and considering who his uncle was he thought the man—Slughorn—ought to be commended.

"Good evening, Horace." Dumbledore greeted conversationally.

"Yes, yes. Hello, Albus. Won't you come in?" Slughorn motioned with a lazy hand for them to follow him and he led them into a sitting room.

Dumbledore settled himself onto the couch comfortably and Horace said, "May I offer you a drink?" However, before the headmaster could continue Horace Slughorn looked over to Harry. "Oho." His eyes widened and darted up to his forehead. _"Oho."_

Harry shifted nervously and refrained from flattening his hair over his scar.

"This," Dumbledore said as he casually indicated to Harry with his good hand, "is Harry Potter. Harry this is an old friend of mine, Horace Slughorn."

Slughorn's face hardened, "This is how you plan to persuade me, is it? The answers still no, Albus."

"I think I will take that drink, if you don't mind, Horace. For old time's sake?" Dumbledore said.

Slughorn hesitated then sighed in defeat. "Oh, alright. _One _drink." Harry couldn't help but notice the reluctant way he left the room to collect the beverages. When he returned his eyes immediately found Harry. "Hmph," he grunted and looked away quickly.

He thrust a glass into Dumbledore's hand and plopped down on the sofa—his stubby legs hanging off the edge.

"How have you been holding up, Horace?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly.

"Not so well," Slughorn admitted dramatically. "Weak chest. Wheezy. A bit of rheumatism too. Can't move as well as I use to. That's to be expected, of course. Old age. Fatigue."

Harry thought he was laying it on pretty thickly but chose not to say anything.

"I'm an old man, Albus," he continued. "A very _tired _old man who has earned the right to a peaceful retirement."

"You're not yet as old as I am," Dumbledore said.

"Well maybe you should consider settling down yourself—retiring," he said as his eyes found Dumbledore's injured hand.

Dumbledore pulled back his sleeve and revealed the tips of his blackened fingers. The back of Harry's neck prickled unpleasantly at the sight of it. "I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand . . ." He spread out his hands wide as if to say age had its compensations. A ring on Dumbledore's uninjured hand caught Harry's eye—it was large and made from what looked like gold and was set with a heavy, black stone which was cracked down the middle. He noticed that Slughorn's eyes lingered on it too.

Dumbledore stood suddenly, "If I might use your restroom, Horace?"

"Yes, of course. Just down the hall there, second door on the left."

Dumbledore strode out of the room. As soon as he was gone a heavy silence filled the room, broken only by Jackson's occasional whimper or gurgle. If the Boy Who Lived holding a baby was odd to Slughorn he didn't mention it. Slughorn stood after a few uncomfortable minutes and crossed the room to the fire.

"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you," Slughorn said.

Harry decided against asking Slughorn to tell him precisely that and instead just sat quietly. Slughorn's watery eyes once again found Harry's scar but this time he took in his whole face.

"You look just like your father," he said.

"So I've been told."

"Except for the eyes. You have—"

"My mother's eyes, yeah." The first time Harry heard that from Hagrid he had swelled with pride. He wanted to be just like his parents—he still did— but it was wearing a bit after so long.

"Hmph," he said again. "Yes. Well, you shouldn't have favorites as a teacher but she was mine. Your mother. Lily Evans. One of the brightest in her year. Charming girl. I used to tell her she should have been in my House but of course I only got back cheeky answers." He chuckled fondly.

"Which was your House?" Harry asked.

"I was Head of Slytherin. Oh, now," he said waving a stubby finger at him like a mother reprimanding a child. "Don't go holding that against me! You'll be a Griffindor I suppose?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

Slughorn gazed over to the opposite wall apparently lost in old memories. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

Dumbledore suddenly reentered the room and Slughorn jumped as if he'd forgotten that he was there too.

"Well, Harry, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality long enough; I think it's time to go," he said.

Not at all sorry to leave Harry stood to his feet. Slughorn looked taken aback.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, indeed. I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Lost . . . ?"

Slughorn shifted where he stood—twiddling his fat thumbs and fidgeting.

"Good-bye, Horace."

"Bye," Harry said.

They were walking back down the pavement when there was a desperate shout from behind them.

"All right, all right, I'll go!"

They turned to see Slughorn panting in the doorway.

"You will teach at Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked.

"I must be mad but yes," Slughorn said breathlessly.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore beamed. "We will see you in September then."

"Yes, I daresay you will." And as they set off again they heard Slughorn shout after them, "I want a payraise, Albus!"

Dumbledore chuckled and merrily called back, "But of course."

With that they set off toward Glen Harroway's home.


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n Okay tomorrow I am going out of town but I will be back Saturday so there might be a couple days between this update and the next.**

* * *

"Well done, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"But . . . I didn't do anything," he said in surprise.

"Yes, you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. What did you think of him?"

"Oh . . . er . . . He was . . . nice."

Harry wasn't sure if he liked Slughorn or not.

"Horace," Dumbledore said, "likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, of the successful and the powerful. He enjoys feeling like he's influenced these people. He has never had the desire to be such himself; he prefers the backseat—more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick his favorites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center.

"I tell you this," Dumbledore continued, "not to turn you against Horace—or as we now know him as, Professor Slughorn—but to put you on your guard. He will try to collect you, Harry. You would be the shining jewel of his collection; 'the Boy Who Lived' . . . . or as they call you these days, 'the Chosen One.'"

Harry shivered at the new title. Every time someone said it or he read it in the Daily Prophet he was reminded of the events that happened the year before—everything from the visions to Sirius's death to the prophecy.

_Neither can live while the other survives . . . ._

As they drew closer to their set destination Harry concentrated on keeping his memories at bay.

No sooner had Dumbledore knocked on the door than it swung open. Harry hadn't paid much attention to Glen Harroway before but this time he took him in.

He had thick curly brown hair and bright blue eyes that held kindness but there was something else there too . . . a certain darkness. Harry supposed that was to be expected though; Dumbledore had told him that Glen was an Auror in the first war. His parents, wife and young son were killed in a Death Eater raid. He had no family left.

"Albus, Harry," the man greeted. "Come in."

Dumbledore thanked him as he walked in. The interior was warm and homey and on top of the fireplace were at least a dozen framed pictures. Each one held the same two people—a woman with flowing blonde hair and light freckles. Her hazel eyes sparkled with love and compassion. And a small, six-year-old boy who was like a miniature clone of Glen.

Glen showed them the floo and said, "Stop by any time, Albus. That goes for you too, Harry—if you ever need anything."

Harry smiled, "Thank you, sir."

"Oh, no. No, 'sir.' Just Glen will do," he said, smiling gently.

Dumbledore and Harry said their good-byes and disappeared through the fireplace.

Harry tumbled out and couldn't help but be grateful he had had the foresight to give Jack to Dumbledore as he fell and landed on his stomach.

"Harry, dear!" He heard Mrs. Weasley say as she helped him to his feet. "Oh, you've grown so much! Are you hungry, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry said as his stomach gave a particularly loud rumble.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well, I best be off. Good day, Molly, Harry." He handed Harry the baby and disappeared back through the floo.

"Oh!" Mrs. Wealsey said excitedly. "This must be Jackson!"

Harry smiled and allowed her to take him. Molly led the way to the kitchen cooing to Jack the whole way.

"Oh, you have such pretty eyes," he heard her say in a baby-voice. "They're just like your daddy's."

Harry's cheeks burned. "Um . . . I'm not . . . I mean . . . I'm only fifteen, Mrs. Weasley."

"Nonsense," she said. "Family is about more than blood, dear. And a father is more than a few shared genes."

"Right," Harry mumbled.

Molly handed Jack back to Harry and set about making Harry some food. An orange furball with a smashed in face bound over to Harry and rubbed against his legs.

"When did Hermione get here?" Harry asked as he took a seat at the table.

"She arrived the day before yesterday," said Mrs. Weasley as she bustled around. "Everyone's in bed, of course."

Harry nodded and reached down, carefully picking up the cat. "Look, bud. It's a kitty cat. His name is Crookshanks. Can you say that?"

Jackson giggled and reached toward the fur but Harry grabbed his hand and said, "Gentle, Jack. You have to be gentle." He slowly ran Jack's closed fist over Crookshanks' fur and the cat purred contently.

At the sound Jack laughed joyfully. Harry chuckled, "He's purring. He likes you, buddy!"

Harry suddenly realized he couldn't hear the clanging of pans anymore. He looked up and found Mrs. Weasley looking at him fondly. When she caught his gaze she said, "Not his daddy?"

Harry felt heat rise to his cheeks but before he could protest Mrs. Weasley placed a bowl of soup in front of him and took Jackson from his arms.

Harry busied himself with eating and desperately trying to get the red to leave his face.

Finally Mrs. Weasley's cooing stopped and she said, "Has Ron told you the news?"

"What news?" Harry asked as he shoved a spoonful of blistering hot soup into his mouth.

"It's only just happened but Arthur's been promoted!"

Harry swallowed thickly and though his he felt as if his throat was on fire he managed to gasp, "That's great!"

"You're so sweet," she said taking his watering eyes for emotion rather than pain. "Rufus Scrimgeour has set up several new offices in response to the present situation, and Arthur's heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It's a big job, he's got ten people reporting to him now!"

"What exactly—?"

Harry listened silently as Mrs. Weasley explained her husband's new job. She was beaming the whole time and Harry felt happy for them—if anyone deserved it it was the Weasley's. Mrs. Weasley glanced at the clock as she said Mr. Weasley would be home soon. All the hands were pointing to 'mortal peril' now. Except Mr. Weasley's who was on 'traveling.'

"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed happily. "He's coming!"

She hurried over to the door as there was a knock on the door. "Arthur is that you?" she called.

"Yes," said Mr. Wealsey tiredly. "But even a Death Eater would say that, dear. Ask the question."

"Honestly, Arthur . . ."

"Molly!"

"Oh, all right, all right . . . What is your dearest ambition?"

"To find out how airplanes stay up," he said happily.

Mrs. Weasley nodded and tried to open the door but Mr. Weasley kept it firmly closed.

"Molly! I have to ask my question now!"

"Arthur, this is silly . . ."

"What do you like me to call you when we're alone?"

Mrs. Weasley's face burned red, Harry's felt a little hot too as he shifted uncomfortably. He quickly looked away and covered Jack's ears.

"Mollywobbles," whispered Mrs. Weasley in mortification.

"Correct. _Now _you can let me in."

**.**

Later that night Harry was woken by Jackson's loud wails. Jack had been unusually quiet for a three month old—Harry took Jack's cries as a good thing. Maybe he was finally getting used to Harry and letting go of what the Dursley's put him through.

Harry stumbled out of bed, thankful that he had convinced Mrs. Weasley to cast a silencing charm on the twins' room before he went to bed.

Harry tripped over a box of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes products and cursed loudly. He got to his feet and felt around for the crib Mrs. Weasley had given to him for Jack. Stumbling over discarded pranks and trash Harry finally made it to Jackson.

He picked him up and quickly checked his diaper only to find it clean. "Are you hungry?" he yawned.

Jackson's only answer was his continued wails.

He placed Jack back into the crib and staggered to the door. Too tired to think straight he fell down the last few stairs. He scowled and got back to his feet, reminding himself once again that Jackson crying was a _good _thing.

Harry finally made it back to the kitchen and thought he ought to be complemented on his ability to make it there in one piece.

Mrs. Weasley had given him a bunch of baby stuff that used to belong to Ron, Fred, George, Percy, Bill and Charlie. So he shuffled around, trying to remember how to make a bottle. He usually just stole an already made one from Darius—he'd never made one from scratch.

He picked up the can of formula and read the instructions printed on the side slowly and carefully. He peeled the plastic lid off and sniffed it. However he regretted it immediately and almost gagged.

"_Gross!_ I can't feed this to Jack—its child abuse!"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard giggling from behind him. He spun around, clutching a bottle in one hand and the can in the other looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Ginny stood in the doorway wearing her nightclothes. Her hair stook out in every direction—a mess to rival even Harry's hair.

"Need help?" she asked.

"Do you know how?"

"The Weasley's are known for their big families—I have enough baby cousins to know a thing or two about caring for a child."

Harry smiled shyly and handed the bottle and formula over. She grinned and showed him how to measure it out and mix it with water.

Harry grinned as she popped it into the wizarding equivalent to a microwave. "I can do that! It's easy!" He said excitedly.

She smiled. "Yep."

"So what are you doing up?"

Ginny's cheeks burned and she mumbled something that sounded like "nightmare." Harry winced sympathetically.

"You don't have to feel ashamed, Gin. If anyone can understand bad dreams it's me," he said.

Ginny smiled, "Yeah. I guess you're right." She took the bottle out and tested the milk's temperature on her wrist before declaring it ready.

Harry could tell that she was affected by the dream, for the first time taking in her pale skin and the sweat that beaded down her forehead. Harry wanted to help her and knew that Jackson had been a pretty good distraction for him.

"Want to help me feed Jack? You can meet him?" Harry asked, unsure why he felt so nervous about what her answer would be.

She beamed at him, "Alright, sure."

Harry, bottle in hand, led the way back to the room. Ginny walked gracefully, never once stumbling in the darkness. Harry, however, fell more on the way back than on the way to. Which really sucked because he was trying extra hard _not_ to fall in front of Gin.

When they finally made it back Jackson was sniffling in his crib. Harry motioned for Ginny to follow him and he took her to the crib. Using a pillow to prop the bottle up and keep it from falling Harry fed Jackson.

"This is Ginny," he told the baby who was staring at the new person with interest. "Ginny's a good friend of mine so I'm sure you'll be seeing a lot of her."

Ginny looked at him in surprise as her cheeks colored. Harry didn't take his eyes off Jack though afraid that if he looked up he might blush too.

"Hello," Ginny said quietly. Jackson grinned around his bottle. "Can I hold him, Harry?"

"Sure," he said and she reached down, picked him up, repositioned the bottle and smiled down at him.

"You're so cute," she told Jackson.

When Jack was fed and burped he yawned in Ginny's arms. Harry gently took him from her and placed him in the crib. He brushed Jackson's hair tenderly and said, "G'night, bud."

"You're a great dad, Harry," Ginny said. "When Ron told us about Jackson he also said you didn't think you could do it. But your wrong—you're doing great."

Harry's face burned for the hundredth time that night. "I'm not his dad. Why do people keep saying that?"

"Because you _are._ You of all people should understand that family expands beyond the restraints of blood. Sirius wasn't related to you but he was your family in every way that mattered."

Harry couldn't think of how to respond to that. A silence descended on them and Harry was surprised at how comfortable it was. He felt like he could have stayed there forever with Jack and Ginny. He didn't know how long they'd been there before Ginny said she had to go back to her own room.

He didn't know why he felt sad to see her go. When the door closed with a soft click he returned to the crib. Jack was barely awake, his eyes opening and closing as he fought sleep off. Harry ran his knuckles across his soft cheek.

"Can you say 'Daddy?'" he asked.

Jackson yawned again and finally gave into sleep's relentless hold. Harry leaned down and kissed Jack tenderly before going back to his own bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**a/n Okay, apparently I lied. I got bored and decided to update again because what else would I be doing a eleven o'clock at night? Surely not sleeping so I'm not tired for my trip tomorrow. That's preposterous. So anyways, until I get back-**

* * *

Harry woke for the second time that night with a gasp of surprise and sweat soaked sheets. At first he wasn't sure what woke him—Jackson was sleeping soundly in his cradle and all through the house everything was silent.

Then a flash of white-hot pain shot through his head. It wasn't the same kind of pain he endured from his scar—it was something new, something much, much worse.

The pain seemed to spread, shooting through his body. He groaned and rolled out of bed, stumbling to gain his footing. His stomach dropped and he fought the urge to be sick. He felt both hot and cold like he had randomly come down with the flu.

Harry almost called out for help when he realized the silencing charms where still firmly in place. His pleas would not reach beyond Jack's young ears.

He tried to take a step toward the door but he immediately crumbled to the floor. Suddenly a familiar sensation spread through him—one he hadn't experienced since the graveyard in Fourth Year. An intense pain impossible to describe consumed him. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know who he was. At that moment he knew nothing except pain and paralyzing fear.

He could almost see Voldemort standing over him. He could almost hear his merciless, cold voice—_"Crucio!"_

The pain subsided and Harry was left with only the memory of it. His throat ached horribly and he was sure that was blood he tasted. He must have screamed.

Jackson was crying hysterically but Harry couldn't gather the energy or strength to go to him. His head throbbed dully and his eyesight was tunneling, slowing plunging him into a world of darkness and he knew no more.

**.**

"Harry? Oh, Merlin, Harry you have to wake up," a desperate voice called from a distance.

Harry didn't know why they were yelling, trying to force him out of his peaceful oblivion. He thought it was quite rude actually. He had a vague, almost nonexistent memory of the world outside his darkness—and it wasn't a pleasant one.

But still . . . the voice sounded near tears. Harry didn't want anyone to cry. So he tried to obey. He tried to think—to remember—what lay beyond. Surely there was something good out there waiting for him? But no, try as he might, Harry's memory could only come up with pain.

Then something broke through the darkness, the serenity. A baby's gurgle. No, not just any baby—Jackson. His unconscious mind pulled the name from nowhere but it seemed fitting. _Jack. Bud. _He was . . . he was . . . his son!

And suddenly a stream of memories came to him. They didn't mean much to him—he didn't know who the freckled boys were or the girls, one bushy haired and one red-headed—but they gave him what he was looking for.

The darkness suddenly became restraining pressing down on him like a harmful fist. He struggled against it, he tried to push it away.

Harry suddenly sat up in bed, knocking heads with Ron who had been looming over him worriedly.

"Ron?" he asked as he rubbed his forehead. He took in the scene around him—Hermione was at his right side and Ron on his left. Hermione looked close to tears. Ginny was standing in front of him cradling Jack and looking at him with a mixture of fear and relief. The twins were sitting on the floor looking unusually somber.

"Mum!" Ron called frantically. "Mum! He's awake!"

Mrs. and Mr. Weasley burst through the room. When she saw him sitting up Mrs. Weasley gasped tearfully and looked like she might have run to his side if Mr. Weasley hadn't been restraining her.

"What happened?" Ginny demanded.

Harry grimaced in remembrance, even still his bones ached. "I don't—I don't really know." He hesitated a moment before quickly recounting the random burst of pain that'd waken him in the night.

"The Cruciatus Curse? Oh, Harry, dear are you sure?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Well . . . it definitely _felt _like it but it was also, without a doubt, _not_ that," Harry said.

Mr. Weasley sighed regretfully. "I'm going to owl Albus. Maybe he'll have heard of a curse like this."

"You mean, you think it was an attack?" Ron asked. "But Dumbledore himself helped put up our wards. _No one_ could _possibly_ . . ."

"We don't know yet, Ron," Mr. Weasley said and after he was sure Harry would be alright he led Mrs. Wealsey away, ignoring her protests.

The four remaining Weasley's and Hermione crowded Harry's bed.

"What happened?" he asked. "I don't remember anything after passing out."

"We came in to wake you up," Hermione said. "Mrs. Weasley a had only just told us you were here so, of course, we immediately came to get you."

"Yeah, but when we got here you were passed out on the floor. At first we thought maybe you'd just fallen asleep like that but then we flipped you over and—Harry, you looked like death," Fred shivered at the memory.

George nodded in agreement. "I didn't even know someone could _be_ so pale."

"We called for Mum and Dad and they helped us get you in bed. They were going to alert Dumbledore when you woke up—I suppose they hadn't finished before we called them back up," Ginny said shakily as she surrendered Jack to Harry.

"How long ago did this happen, mate?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure. It can't have been too long but I didn't make it a propriety to check the clock before going unconscious," Harry smiled.

No one smiled back.

"Harry," Hermione said. "What if it was You-Know-Who?"

"At the very least it must've been the Death Eaters," Ron agreed.

Harry felt his stomach drop and he pulled Jackson closer. The baby looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and reached out one hand, touching Harry's cheek tenderly.

Not an hour later the pain completely left Harry and he felt perfectly fine. But despite this he was forced to stay bed ridden by a watchful Mrs. Weasley. Ron and Hermione stayed with Harry so long he eventually had to force them to leave his bedside and go have fun elsewhere. However, no sooner had they left then Fred and George returned. They showed him some of their new WWW products and joyfully informed him that they had purchased a shop in Hogsmead.

But with both these visits, when they thought Harry wasn't looking, Fred, George, Ron and Hermione shot him worried looks.

The visit he enjoyed best was Ginny's. She didn't look at him like he might break at any second as the others had. She didn't shoot him sad looks when he turned away. Instead she came in and sat next to him on the bed, both leaning against the headboard. They played with Jackson until Harry had to put him down for a nap and then they started talking about anything and everything. From the future—

"Gin?"

"Hmm?" she asked. They had previously been sitting in compatible silence, Ginny's head resting on Harry's shoulder and his head on hers.

"Do you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?"

"Sort of."

He chuckled. "What's that mean?"

"Well you know how there are two different kinds of old people? The ones who tell boring stories about their grandchildren or knitting patterns or some other nonsense and then there's the ones with thousands of cool stories to tell—about all their different jobs and such."

Harry laughed. "You'll be a very nice old person then."

"Yes, I will, won't I?" Ginny said in mock arrogance. "What about you?"

Harry hadn't thought too much on it. He didn't even know if he had a future to plan for. The prophecy stated quite clearly that he could die. Maybe Professor Trelawney will finally be right—maybe Harry will die.

But he couldn't tell Gin this. He couldn't answer her question with the fact that he might not have a future.

"'M don't know," he said.

"Stay at home dad, then?" Ginny chuckled.

"Oh, yes. I'm sure that's exactly what everyone is expecting of the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One playing house," Harry joked.

To what superpower they wished they had—

"Harry?"

"Yes, Gin?"

"Have you ever heard of the Muggle superheroes? You know, like Iron Man and Bat Man and Superman and Green Arrow?"

"Yes, I did grow up with Muggles you know," Harry said as if he were talking to a particularly slow person.

Ginny rolled her eyes and continued. "What power would you want?" At Harry's questioning look she elaborated, "Like, if you could have _one_ super power then what would it be?"

"Super speed," Harry said instantly.

"Why?"

_Because then escape would be easy. Uncle Vernon could never hit me again. Aunt Petunia could never throw frying pans at me. Dudley could never beat me up. Voldemort could never catch up with me. Because I could finally, finally be free._

But Harry said none of that allowed instead he shrugged, grinning lop-sidedly, "It sounds cool. What about you, Gin?"

She bit the inside of her cheek. Harry had noticed that she did that when she was in deep thought . . . not that he'd been watching. Really, she was Ron's sister.

"Shape shifting," she finally decided.

"How come?"

"Haven't you ever looked at an animal and wondered what it would be like to be one? Tell me you've never wanted to be a dog before."

Harry laughed. "Couldn't you just become an animagus?"

Ginny waved him off. "It'd be much easier to just shape shift. Besides animagi only turn into one thing and they don't even decide what it is."

All in all when Mrs. Weasley called for Ginny to come back stairs Harry regretted the end of their visit.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day Dumbledore and Glen came over. It hadn't taken long for the headmaster to owl back asking if the two of them could come.

Harry had read the letter. He knew that Dumbledore had been trying to stay his light non-fazed self but he had seen the worry in between the lines. And it was enough to make him feel queasy and anxious about the meeting.

Dumbledore greets Harry with his usual "Harry, m'boy!" but the twinkle in his eyes is dimmed with concern. Glen smiles at him but his face is pale and there are tired bags under his haunted hazel eyes.

Harry, trying to act casual as if he wakes up in excruciating pain all the time, leads them to the sitting room and offers them seats which they graciously accept—though Dumbledore does so looking a bit stiff and Glen sits on the edge of his seat as if prepared to run at a moment's notice.

Harry stands uncomfortably for a while, shifting and avoiding eye contact, he wishes he had turned down Ginny's offer to watch Jack during the meeting now—attending to his son would give him something to do.

Harry can't help but smile a little. It seemed strange—to be fifteen (almost sixteen) and refer to a child as his own but it also felt very right and fitting. For the first time that he could remember Harry had a family—someone he loved and who loved him in return.

"Harry?" Dumbledore finally spoke.

Harry smiled shyly. "Yes, sir?"

"Why don't you sit down and tell us what happened?" Harry glanced at Glen briefly. Dumbledore had said he would bring him along but hadn't explained why encase his letter was intercepted. Dumbledore, always attentive, added, "Glen—if you'll remember—was an Auror. He was also in the first Order. He has studied a lot of spells in his time, dark and light alike. Both his parents were also Healers. So he'll be able to tell if it was an attack and help if it deals with health."

Harry nodded and tried his best to recount exactly what went down the night before. It seemed impossible to describe the pain and the way it seemed to disappear almost magically not long after he came round.

When he finished he surveyed the adults before him. Dumbledore's sparkle had disappeared and uncertainty shone through his blue orbs—he always seemed to have all the answers, to know everything, and it unsettled Harry to know that his hero, the great Albus Dumbledore couldn't help him. The sickly look to Glen had seemed to double and Harry wondered if maybe they should take him to a Healer instead of himself. A worry line appeared on his forehead and he frowned deeply, looking as if he were in deep thought.

"It doesn't sound like any curse I've heard of," he said. "If it was an attack it was an original spell—someone invented it. Of course, it's near impossible to invent one without the Ministry finding out. They have their own spells for that—one's that can sense when such a thing has been created." It sounded as if Glen were talking more to himself than anyone else—thinking out loud. He cleared his throat and said, "Perhaps we should go to St. Mungos? I have an office there and we can floo straight inside it so no one sees you, Harry. As far as we know it wasn't an attack at all."

Harry and Dumbledore nodded in agreement.

"Just let me go tell Mrs. Weasley and make sure Ginny is okay with watching Jack a bit longer," Harry said and hurried to the kitchen where he knew Mrs. Weasley was cooking dinner.

"Oh, Harry, dear!" she said when she caught sight of him. "Has the meeting ended all ready? Do they know what's wrong?"

"Not yet, Mrs. Weasely. We were actually going to go to St. Mungo's and run some tests. I might be a bit late to supper," Harry said giving her an apologetic smile.

"Oh, that's quite alright, sweetheart. Just as long as you eat when you get back, your entirely too skinny."

Harry grinned. "Yes ma'am."

He turned, nodded an acknowledgement to the headmaster and Glen as he passed and hurried up the stairs to Ginny's room. The door was wide open and Harry bit back a laugh at the sight before him.

Ron was sitting on the bed, still as a board and his back rigidly straight. In his arms was Jackson who was blabbing on in his unintelligible language and laughing every few seconds as if from a funny joke. Ron's eyes were wide and he was looking around helplessly.

Hermione sat beside him smiling and telling him he was doing just fine while Ginny's face was red from holding back laughter.

"Am—am I doing it right?" he asked in a frightened whisper.

Hermione studied his posture and the awkward way he held Jackson and started spouting out facts about how to properly hold a baby. Ever since Harry had written her about Jack she had been reading up on child development and such.

Harry cleared his throat to announce his arrival. When Ron caught sight of him relief flooded his expression.

"What've you been _feeding_ this kid, Har? You should have seen his diaper earlier it was _gross!"_ he said.

Ginny snorted. "What do you know about it? The minute it was time to change his nappy you fled to the '_bathroom.'"_

Harry chuckled.

"How was it, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"We actually aren't done. We've gotta go to St. Mungos. I don't know how long that'll take can you watch Jack a bit longer?" he asked, looking pointedly at Ginny.

"Sure, no problem," she said.

"All right. But just in case I'm not back in time he usually goes to bed around seven thirty—he can't sleep without his bear and blanket, both of which are already in his crib. And he'll take a bottle too. Do you know what 'tummy time' is?" Ginny nodded, looking amused. "I like to have him do at least half an hour of that before bed. He doesn't like it but it's supposed to be good for him. And—"

Ginny laughed. "Harry, we'll be _fine._ Just go."

"Okay but make sure he—"

Ron smirked. "We have everything under control, Harry, really." Just then Jackson gurgled loudly and Ron jumped.

Harry smiled. "Okay, okay. I'm going."

As he left he heard Hermione return to her lecture on babies and Ron groan loudly.

"Ready to go?" Glen asked once Harry returned to them.

"Yes, sir."

They spent hours at the hospital running test after test. It seemed like an endless labyrinth of high-tech machinery, complicated spells and gross tasting potions. But they came up with nothing. Not so much as the common cold. They even ran some tests twice—desperately searching for something they'd missed or over looked.

But by all means Harry was perfectly healthy. He thought this was rather good news but the adults didn't seem to agree. They just looked more and more troubled as the hours wore on.

Glen was staring intently at a few x-rays. He had already been over them several times but Harry thought it best not to say anything.

He sighed sadly. "I just can't _find _anything. I'm nearly certain this wasn't an attack but . . ." Glen trailed off, glaring at the opposite wall as if it were the cause to his problems.

"Has anything like this happened before, Harry?" he asked.

"No."

"Have you had any side effects?"

"No. I feel perfectly fine."

He sighed in frustration.

"If I may suggest something, Glen?" Dumbledore said.

Glen nodded eagerly.

"Perhaps we should call it a night. It's all ready very late and I do believe Harry has a son to get home to." Harry flushed with both embarrassment and, strangely enough, pride. "You could come stay at Hogwarts so we can carry on. You'll be paid of course."

Glen didn't even pause to think. "Yes," he agreed a little too quickly. Harry remembered Glen's home, filled with pictures of his dead wife and son. Harry had felt comfortable there but he could also sense the loneliness and depression that plagued its halls. It really was no wonder Glen was anxious to escape.

Harry glanced at the clock and was surprised to see the flashing green numbers—7:15. It felt like much later and Harry was ready to collapse from exhaustion.

Dumbledore said, "Great. Then we'll see you in September? Harry, there are some things I need to see to so if you can floo yourself back to the burrow?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, Glen."

Harry bid them goodnight, through the powder in the flames, stepped in and called out "The Burrow!"

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace and caught himself just before he fell on his face. He wasn't very hungry but he had promised Mrs. Weasley to eat so he wondered into the kitchen. A plate of food sat on the counter, steam still billowing up as if it had just been cooked though Harry knew it had been made hours ago.

He forced it down and headed upstairs. He could hear the muffled voices of Ron and Hermione from behind Ron's room and continued on to Ginny's. Her door was still open.

She was lounging in her bed holding Jackson and making his toy bear talk which earned her hysterical laughter from Jackson.

Harry smiled and knocked on the door. She looked up and grinned, motioning for him to come in. He walked over and sat on the edge of her bed.

When Jack's eyes landed on him he started bouncing up and down in Ginny's arms and reaching out for him. Harry smiled and picked him up, kissing his cheek and saying, "Hey, buddy. I missed you too. Was he good, Gin?"

"He was fine, Harry, no need to look so scared."

He smiled at her and said, "Thanks again for watching him."

"No problem but I call Aunt Rights," she said seriously.

He raised an eyebrow. "What's that mean?"

"Well, I get to be his designated aunt of course, Hermione as well. Ron's already started referring to himself as 'Uncle Ron.'"

Harry grinned. "You'll make a great aunt."

Ginny smiled and after thanking her one last time he walked back to the twins' room. He briefly paused and considered going to Ron's—he knew he had to tell Hermione and him about the prophecy before they went back to school—but decided against it. He really was ready to go to bed.

Harry sat up in bed holding Jack. "You've got a big family, bud. A lot of people who have your back," he said. "I'm glad. You'll have a great childhood. And if it turns out that I can't be there for it I'm so sorry. I want to be. I want to be there when you start crawling and walking. I want to hear you call me 'Daddy.' I want to teach you to fly a broom and play Quidditch and be at the other end of your letters when you finally go off to Hogwarts.

"But, you know, some parents can't do those sort of things. Mine couldn't. They died for me—protected me to their last breath. And I'll do that for you too if it comes down to it. But I _swear_ to you that if I can't be there, if I can't live through your childhood, then Voldemort sure as heck won't either. I'll take him with me. And you'll grow up away from war. My whole life has been about battles and Death Eaters but your's won't be. You'll be happy. I promise you will."

Jack looked up at him, eyes wide and innocent. Harry pulled him closer. He couldn't help but think about how things could have been if his parents were alive. They might have had more kids—Harry might have been a big brother and Jackson could have had a _real _aunt and uncle. He'd have had a grandma and grandpa.

A proper family.

But then, if his parents hadn't died Voldemort would have stayed too. It'd have been much worse. And Harry might not have even got Jackson. The Dursley's would be living their perfect suburban life probably blissfully unaware of his existence.

And Jackson would be in an orphanage.

When Harry was small the Dursleys used to threaten to drop him at the orphanage when he was bad or did accidental magic. It was one of their worst punishments, threatening him with it. Not as bad as the beatings but a close second. Once, when he was around seven, they really had dropped him there. And it wasn't a very good orphanage. Harry knew they could have taken him to a better one but instead he was sent to the one where they barely have enough food to keep the orphans alive. Where they encourage the older kids to beat up the younger ones. Where their physical abuse was even worse than Uncle Vernon's. They had picked him back up the next day—after all who would cook and clean if he was gone? Who would Uncle Vernon vent his anger and frustrations out on?

And it's this orphanage that Harry is sure they'd have put Jack in.

And maybe he never would have met Ron or Hermione or Ginny or any of the Weasleys for that matter.

It still hurt—not having a mum and dad like everyone else, growing up unloved and uncared for—but Harry realized that he wouldn't have it any other way. His childhood hadn't been a happy one. It hadn't been filled with the love and kisses and joy that was in Ron's and Hermione's but instead stained by hatred and anger and abuse and a jealousy that ran deep. But you have to go through the bad stuff before you get to the good. The rainbow only comes after the storm.

And as Harry pulled his son closer Harry smiled, filled with a giddy excitement. Because he was finally, after nearly sixteen years, happy.


	8. Chapter 8

**a/n Just a heads up I am going on vacation the 20th and won't be back until July 9th. Please don't hate me :)**

* * *

Harry paced the room and anxiously ran a hand through his hair. Hermione sat on the bed waiting patiently, her hands neatly folded in her lap. Ron, sitting next to her, groaned loudly and said, "Will you just be out with it, Harry? I'm hungry."

Harry sighed and came to a stop. He stared at the door and briefly considered making a run for it. Did Ron and Hermione _really _need to know what the prophecy said? He blew air out of his nose, squared his shoulders and turned to his friends but the moment he made eye contact his readiness and confidence left him.

He swallowed thickly. "Do you guys remember . . . well obviously you_ remember_ but . . ." He sighed again.

"Harry," Hermione said gently, "whatever it is you can tell us. We're your friends."

Harry plopped down where he stood and leaned against the wall, putting his head in his hands. He pretended not to notice the worried looks his friends exchanged.

"Hey, mate," Ron said, approaching him slowly as one would a dangerous animal, "C'mon. It's all right. What is it?"

Stealing himself Harry looked up. "You know how the prophecy broke in the Department of Mysteries?"

" . . . Yes," Hermione said cautiously.

"It . . . It wasn't the only copy," Harry said.

Ron's face morphed into an expression of confusion. "What do you mean?"

"The one in the Department wasn't the original record, nor was it the only one."

"But who would have—"

"Isn't it obvious, Ron?" Hermione sighed. _"Dumbledore."_

Ron's ears burned red. "Oh. Right. So did he show you, Har?"

Harry nodded slowly but when he opened his mouth to recite it his voice failed him.

"Harry?" Hermione asked fearfully, "What did it say?"

Taking a deep breath and looking away again he said, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . . The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies . . ."

Harry watched as a thousand emotions flashed in his friends eyes—disbelief, horror, fear, anger. By the end of it Hermione had silent tears staining her cheeks. Ron sat still as a board a look of shock frozen on his face. Harry wasn't sure but he thought there might have been tears threatening to fall from his eyes too.

Before Harry could react or say anything more Ron jumped to his feet and started walking back in forth where Harry had just moments ago.

His face turned blotchy red, whether from grief or anger Harry didn't know.

"I can't believe this!" Ron growled. "You've given more than anyone to this war and now they want you to do _this_? Every _freakin' _year. 'Harry go get the Philosopher's Stone!' 'Harry go win the Tri Wizard Tournement!' 'Harry do this! Harry do that!' You know for the 'leader' of the light Dumbledore sure is _stupid!_ Honestly! You've given _everything _for the fight against You-Know-Who! You don't have to do this! Let someone else! You're just a kid! Why not Dumbledore, huh? They do say he's the only one You-Know-Who feared! I think they were lying though! Dumbledore's just a bloody—"

"Ronald!" Hermione interrupted her voice thick with tears.

Ron went on as if he hadn't heard her, using a few colorful words to describe just what the headmaster was. Harry let him get it out, knowing this was Ron's way of dealing with things. Hermione, though Harry knew she was aware of this too, kept reprimanding him (which Harry supposed was her way of dealing with it).

Finally after ten full minutes Ron, breathing heavily, dropped to his knees and covered his face. His shoulders started shaking and Harry saw his ear turn redder. Harry had never seen Ron cry before. Not even when Sirius had accidently broken his leg had he cried this way. Because the sobs that escaped Ron were more than just tears—they were heart-wrenching and told a story of tragedy.

"Please Harry," he moaned from between his fingers, "don't do it. If you . . . If You-Know-Who . . . I couldn't stand it if . . . Harry you're my best friend. _Please_, let someone else take care of You-Know-Who for once."

"Ron's right, Harry. You mustn't go after him or do something stupid," Hermione said, hiccupping every now and then as she tried to keep from crying. "I mean, if you won't stay away from this for us or for yourself then do it for Jackson. He needs you. You're his _dad."_

Harry felt anger build up inside him at that. "Don't you see I _am _acting out of Jack's best interest? He won't grow up in the shadow of war, okay? Not like us! He'll get to go to Hogsmeade without having to constantly look over his shoulder! He'll go to Hogwarts without three-headed dogs and Dark Lords and Basilisks and dragons! The only way to ensure that future for him is if I . . ." Harry trailed off as he felt his irritation fade. "I'm sorry. But I _have_ to do it. Your wrong Ron I haven't given the war everything, not yet."

Ron choked on his tears and crawled over to Harry, sitting down beside him. "Okay . . . okay. But if you're going after You-Know-Who then I'm going to. Don't even try to convince me otherwise because if you try to leave without me then I'll follow you and if you get away I'll just give myself to the Death Eaters. And do you really want that on your conscience?"

"Me too, Harry. We're with you no matter what," Hermione added giving a firm nod as if to agree with herself.

"Guys . . . what about your families?" Harry said.

"What about yours?" Hermione countered, "Jack is your family and you're still going to do it."

Ron, noticing how Harry looked like he was going to keep arguing, said, "We're coming. And that's final."

Harry looked at Ron intently. His face was hard and determined. Harry had always known Ron was loyal (after all he supported the Chuddley Cannons) but this was almost to the point of being a Hufflepuff. Ron was offering up his life. Hermione was sitting up tall like she did when a professor gave her points for knowing the answer. She was staring at him with all the defiance in the world; it was so unlike Hermione that he knew, without a doubt, that they were serious.

Slowly he nodded. "O—Okay. You can come."

Ron smiled a little wetly, "Great. Erm . . . we're not . . . we're not going _now_ are we? I'm _still_ hungry."

Harry laughed. "No, we aren't going yet. But when its time you two will be the first to know, trust me."

"We do, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry, suddenly remembering and looking for a change of topic, said, "Oh, Ron! Dumbledore said that Jack and I are going to be staying in a private room this year so we don't disturb everyone else. He said you can stay there too. If you want, I mean."

Ron's eyes glowed. "A _private _room? Wicked! I'm in! Wait 'til Fred and George hear, they'll be _so_ jealous!"

There was a knock on the door and at Ron's "come in!" Ginny stuck her head inside.

"Gin!" Harry said a little too happily. Ron looked at him curiously and Harry hoped his cheeks weren't as hot as they felt. Hermione was looking at Ginny, Harry wasn't sure what her expression meant but the famous Weasley blush stained Ginny's face.

Harry cleared his throat. "Erm . . . so, uh, is something wrong with . . . erm . . . uh . . ."

Harry glanced at Ron all most nervously.

". . . Jack," Hermione supplied sounding far too knowing for Harry's comfort.

"I know his name! Is something wrong with Jack, Gin? Erm . . . Ginny."

Suddenly Ron's questioning frown turned into a perceptive smirk. Harry was sure his face had caught fire it felt so hot.

Ginny, still red, said, "Er . . . no, well, kind of. It's just that. I . . . erm . . . yeah."

Harry wasn't entirely sure what was going on. Ginny _never_ stuttered (except for in her First-Third Years when she had a crush on him). And Harry _never_ blushed. And Ron and Hermione where sharing secretive looks like they knew something he didn't.

Harry cleared his throat again, just to fill the uncomfortable silence. "Right. I'm going to go get Jack."

He stood up and slipped past Ginny, careful not to touch her or walk too closely as they made their way to her room. Away from Ron's smirk and Hermione's knowing looks Harry fell back into the usual ease he felt around Ginny. She seemed to too because her shoulders relaxed.

As they drew nearer Jack's blood-curdling cries filled Harry's ears and he grimaced, resisting the urge to shove his fingers in his ears.

Walking through Ginny's door he found Jack lying on a blanket on the ground, his face redder than Ron's and his small fists shaking at his sides.

"How long's he been like this?" Harry said, talking loudly to be heard.

"A while now," Ginny replied. "I can't get him to stop. I tried changing and feeding him and I tried to get him to sleep in case he was tired."

"Have you tried Boo?" Harry asked motioning to the discarded stuffed bear.

"Twice," Ginny said regretfully.

"Right," he mumbled. "I'm going in," he added dramatically.

"Be careful out there, Harry," Ginny said solemnly.

Harry grinned, rolled up his sleeves just for dramatic effect and strode over to the crying baby, delighting in Ginny's giggles from behind him. He picked Jack up cautiously but he went on crying as if he hadn't noticed.

"Hey, buddy. You're giving . . . _Aunt Ginny_ . . . a headache. And Daddy too. And if not for the silencing charm you'd probably be giving one to all of England," Harry said in a soothing voice, bouncing up and down steadily.

Jack kept crying.

Ginny's face suddenly lit up. "Oh! I know what to do! I'll be back, Harry." And she was gone. Harry continued to rock and shush him but to no effect. When Ginny returned she was holding a bottle in her hand grinning like a mad man.

"I can't believe I didn't think of this before!"

She walked over and held out her arms. Harry handed Jack over curiously and watched in amazement as Ginny put the bottle in Jack's mouth and he instantly quieted.

"What _is_ that? I thought you already tried to feed him!" Harry said, drawing nearer in amazement.

"It's Mum's own special concoction. She used it with us when we were babies. She swears by it," Ginny said, smiling proudly as if she had just won the Quidditch World Cup.

"But what's in it?"

Ginny shrugged and said cheerfully, "I don't know!" At Harry's frown she added, "She used it with every one of us and we turned out okay . . . well, mostly."

"Well, all right then. I'm trusting you on this, Gin. If Jack comes down with some weird disease I know who to blame," he said grinning.

She looked up from Jack and the smile slipped from her face. Harry wasn't sure why until he realized how close they were standing. If he lowered his head just a little bit more they would be sharing breaths and a little more after that and his lips would meet hers.

He stared into her eyes and she stared into his. Had they always been such a deep brown? They were like hot chocolate on cold winter day. Had her eyelashes always been so long? Had there always been so much love in her gaze?

It was like he wasn't in control of his body any more. He was leaning in, her breath was minty. Closer. Closer. Closer.

"Hey, guys. Mum says—what're you doing?"

Harry jumped back his cheeks pink. Heavy embarrassment was curling around in the pit of his stomach as he turned toward the voice. George Weasley was leaning against the doorway looking as if Christmas had come early. Laughter danced in his eyes as he looked back in forth between Harry and Ginny.

"George!" Harry said, blushing. "What—what are you doing here?"

He grinned widely. "It's Sunday, Har. Fred and I always come to lunch on Sundays."

He walked in and plucked Jackson from his sister's arms. "Well then we'll just leave you to it. Won't we, Jack. Mum says it's time for lunch but please, by all means, take your time." He walked back to the door, a definite spring to his steps. He turned around, wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and said, "Have fun . . . but not too much fun, that's my baby sister."

He closed the door with a soft click behind him. Harry could hear his laughter as he walked away, no doubt to tell everyone what he just walked in on. Harry swallowed and, avoiding eye contact like the plaque said, "Right well . . . erm . . . lunch."

He held the door open for Ginny, she didn't look at him as she walked out and Harry followed after her, staring at the floor.

When they reached the kitchen Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry tightly and he couldn't help but notice the extra food she gave him.


End file.
